I stepped off the plane thinking about how I was going to pull off walking outside without busting my butt on some form of iced surface. Success (although I can't say the same for a certain native, but I won't mention any names, Allie). After walking what seemed like miles to my ride, I felt like I was living the life of a Charlie's Angel while Bosley gave me my orders. "We're on a mission. We have to pick up Allie." Roger that.
Note: It was a some point after that and before the next section that Miss Congeniality busted her butt in her own driveway.
Al and Mags brought the entire dress section of their closet with them to try on before choosing their weapon for the evening. Me? I had a black thing. No, seriously. It was a one-size fits all... thing. Oh, and it was black.
After hauling hiney in the parking lot of the train station (I never signed up for the running part), we managed to catch our train no thanks to the cabbie who forgot to come pick us up. Oh, and I can't forget to mention the conspiracy where the lovely town of Poughkeepsie only had one working ticket machine on New Years Eve, so everyone had to pay an extra $5 on the train for a ticket. Nice job, I almost wish I had thought of that.
What's that, you say? Now we have to walk to the bar? I don't want to say, "lucky me," but in this case, I suppose I had one-up on the gals. I at least had boots on. Mags and Al were bare legged and in platforms and strappy-heels. Win!
Now, here comes the good part. Due to what I'm going to call an "overexertion of alcoholic consumption" on Christmas Eve (that's a whole other blog I spared you of), I didn't even want to look at liquor (or a toilet bowl) on NYE. I nursed a beer the entire night. Sadly, I was the only one.
At least my sobriety gave me a chance to actually look around and see where I was. I felt like I was in the middle of an episode of The Jersey Shore. There was a douche with a horn the whole night who Rag and I endearingly dubbed, "The Horn." His brother with a noise-maker was "The Clicka (clicker)," and let's not forget the greasy Rico Suave who was dubbed, "The Problem." And what's up with the ladies being fall-down drunk? Please tell me I don't look like that. I mean literally fall-down drunk. So drunk they don't even realize they're sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom... or care to get up.
After the classy bar did the countdown to the ball dropping a whopping 2 times, we got our (their) sloppy selves together and bailed for the evening. Us ladies refused to walk at this point being that our feet felt like they were walking on knives with every step. Some non-believer in the group insisted,
"you're not going to get a cab, it's New Years. Just walk."
We sent in the secret weapon: Al in a hot pink piece of fabric. I hopped off of Rag's back with the quickness (yes, I was having him carry me) and ran over to our cab. Now, this is a whole other problem: Our pervy cabbie talking about boobs and favorite colored dresses and drunk girls, but I don't care to relive that moment.
I was anxiously waiting to see how many idiots couldn't hold their liquor and would make the train their own personal vomit bag, but alas, we were the only group with an idiot. 3 times worth the idiot, but I digress. It was great to spend the start of another year with those I love.
The next evening I practiced my artistic abilities and gathered all of the snow I could to build a snowman. Behold my "snowchild":